Friday, April 18, 2014

Risk and Revelation (A Good Friday sermon with a little different angle on the meaning of Friday.)



“Risk and Revelation”

Luke 23:1-5, 13-25

Good Friday 2014

Allen Huff





          In Luke’s gospel, Pilate says it three times:

          “I find no basis for an accusation against this man…

          “I have examined him…and have not found this man guilty of any of your charges…

          “I have found in him no ground for the sentence of death…”

          It’s a remarkable thing, isn’t it?  Not only can Pilate find no threat in this Galilean rabbi being accused by his peers of political subversion, but according to gospel accounts, he actually makes the effort to look.

          Not a great deal is known about Pontius Pilate, except that during his ten-year term as the emperor’s procurator of Judea he developed a reputation for taking pathological delight in inflicting violence against the Jews.  Apparently, Pilate even created opportunities to persecute and execute as many Jews as possible, and all in the name of Caesar.  In fact, one of the things we do know about Pilate is that he so flagrantly bullied and baited the Jews, that in the year 36 or 37 Caesar not only fired him but exiled him.1  The job of a procurator was to maintain Roman law and order, but it seems that earlier procurators and the emperor himself were aware that one cannot effectively keep order through abuse – not for long, anyway.

          By the time of Jesus’ trial, a brutal Pilate has executed countless would-be messiahs, and most of them without benefit of trial.  So, it would be most uncharacteristic of him to argue on behalf of yet another Jew claiming to be the long-awaited Messiah.

          Why, then, why do all four canonical gospels portray Pilate as somewhat conflicted over what to do with Jesus?  The most familiar answers to that question are summed up in Jesus’ comment to Pilate in John 19: “You would have no power over me unless it had been given to you from above.”

          ‘Rome has nothing on God,’ says Jesus.  ‘Your empire may intimidate, torture, and kill God’s people.  You may cause irreparable damage to many bodies and minds.  And you may flatter yourselves saying, See how quickly the Jews will abandon their God and put their faith in sword and spear like the rest of us.

          ‘But,’ says Jesus, ‘the arc of history does not belong to power and wealth.  It belongs to Love.'

          ‘Pay attention,’ say both Jesus and the gospel writers.  ‘On Friday, God is at work, revealing to all with eyes to see and ears to hear that human violence cannot hinder Love.  God is not some kind of human construct who can become so overcome with anger and offense as to lose the will and power to be God – to be Love.’

          The entire life and witness of Jesus says to us that nothing in heaven or on earth can sink God into our obsession with violence, indeed, our love of violence.

          God cannot be rendered so impotent as to be forced to resort to sadistic revenge as a means of grace.

          Friday is not about satisfying some adolescent deity with innocent blood.  It is about God entering humanity’s inhumanity in vulnerable, self-emptying Love.

          Friday is about God entering our brokenness to reveal the pitiful futility of our addiction to the brutal ways and means upon which principalities and powers depend.

          Friday is Good because it reveals to us that God does not share our loveless fear.

          Friday is Good because it reveals to us that, indeed, nothing at all can separate us from the Love not just of God, but from the Love that is God in Christ Jesus.

          Friday, then, is a day of confession.  Today we confess that we are not only much quicker to trust power and wealth, we are even quick to credit God with our idolatry of those things.  Yes, God desires our well-being, but in deliberate fear we choose to mistake all of our creation-polluting and neighbor-starving excesses for holy blessing.  And we are even quicker to judge and condemn all who threaten our comfortable certainty with the disarming truth of grace.

          “Jerusalem, Jerusalem,” wails Jesus, “the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!” (Matthew 23:37a)

          For two thousand years, many who have called themselves followers of Jesus have turned the gospel accounts of Friday into sanction for persecuting the Jews – Jesus’ own people.  But the point of these stories is to say that most often it is from within the family of faith that the deepest faithlessness arises.  When we distort the unsettling Love of God, we crucify God’s image within us and God's presence among us.

          Think of the people to whom we shut our doors saying, ‘Come back when you look, or think, or act like us.’

          Think of the ways the Church has been silent or even complicit in the face of sins such as human slavery, genocide, war, poverty, and pollution of the creation.

          Friday reminds us that there is no them to blame or condemn.    Friday reminds us that it is our own rabid shouts of selfish and impatient fear that send Jesus to the cross.

          Most importantly, Friday reminds us that the God embodied in Jesus does not need violence or call for innocent blood.  Any god who must kill those whom that god loves in order to have his capacity to love restored isn't much of a god.  Or perhaps we should say that he is nothing more than a god, an all-too-human idol.

          “All who make idols are nothing,” laments Isaiah, “and the things they delight in do not profit...Who would fashion a god or cast an image that can do no good?  Look, all its devotees shall be put to shame; the artisans [themselves] are merely human.” (Isaiah 44:9a, 10-11a)

          No, we cannot pin Friday's cruelty on an angry God.  We make that demand.  So it is in truly radical grace that Jesus follows through with a life of love and peace that we, who would prefer a militant messiah, cannot abide.  He goes willingly into Friday.  He bears through with purposed intent to reveal to us, to reveal for us, that our unnatural craving for violence will never satisfy the Creator or redeem the Creation.2

          In Jesus, the Christ, God takes the terrible and gracious risk of Friday to expose the slothful vanity of our self-worshiping, our neighbor-crushing, and our creation-abusing sin.

          And then – and then to save us from all of that, God follows the risk of Friday with the glorifying and gracious revelation of Sunday.


2While I don't quote either author directly, I am grateful to Philip Newell and Richard Rohr for helping to reshape my theology of the cross.A

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